Category Archives: Recovery

The Jig Is Up

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Okay. So I totally blew the diet. I’ve been freebasing flour and sugar for like a month now, easily.

I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to try again to get back on the proverbial wagon.

I’ve noticed a few changes.  I mean other than the obvious weight gain one would expect.  I have also noticed my mood could best be described as “bitch” on steroids.   I have a short list of at least 5 people with which I’d like to take a bat to their head like a piñata.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t good thing.

Oh and salad? Yeah all the shit to make one putrefied at the back of the fridge 3 weeks ago.  I ate pumpkin pie for breakfast and dinner today.   I think I need a fucking intervention but it doesn’t look good for me.  Not with the bat and all….


Brokenness

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Growing up I had many fears.   They were not just ordinary kid fears.  For there were things which lurked in the dark.  Things from which my parents could not protect me.   I often felt petrified particularly at night.   The nights were long and at times seemed to stretch out interminably.

To make matters worse the landscape of my daytime was such that I was rather invisible.   Usually well-behaved, I got lost in the shuffle of the chaos and discord,  the cacophony of our home.  I needed comfort after the unspeakable terror of the night.  I often fantasized about being rescued by a benevolent parent archetype.  Someone who would recognize my hidden suffering and rescue me from the profane which my parents could not see.

So ever since I was small I can remember seeking out bits of care and affection hoping to stitch together enough to survive.    I have a crystal clear memory of cutting a bunch of lavender colored lilacs with a pair of scissors from the bush outside my bedroom window.   I brought them to school as a gift for my 3rd grade teacher, with some tin foil wrapped at the base.  I was hoping my good deed would earn me a bit of her praise.  Wishing she might look favorably upon me.   I was starving, aching for somebody, anybody,  to tell me that I was a good girl.

That desperation has not changed much since then; only my age has.

Even when I have managed to capture that attention and validation from a man as an adult,  that I had so desperately sought back then, I cannot hold onto the warmth I feel from receiving it for very long.  Because my early childhood trauma left me with a hole somewhere, all of the warmth and goodness I am able to take in slips away into the darkness leaving me feeling empty and alone.

I have been left in a constant unending cycle of seeking attention and validation from others.  The process itself is exhausting, time-consuming, and always ends the same.   I must begin it all over.

Trying to figure out how to construct the emotional glue with which to fill this invisible hole has proven a lot harder than I ever imagined.  For I don’t know where the hole exists within myself to patch and the spackle is not readily available at the local hardware store.

I still feel like a little girl inside, wanting that care and reassurance that I am lovable and good.  There is the sobering realization that it’s all going to have to come from me.  I’m going to have to be that voice I always needed.

I don’t want to shoulder this.  I want a different way.  I continue to struggle with accepting that there will never be anyone to rescue me.   There won’t be any grown up to tell me that I’m good.  Because I’m not 7 years old anymore, even if I feel like it on the inside.

It sucks being broken.   Dealing with kid feelings, kid fears, in a grown up body.

Kid Fears – The Indigo Girls – 1988

Pain from pearls, hey little girl
How much have you grown?
Pain from pearls, hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you’ve known
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running high (running high)
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running low (running low)
They all know, now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
Any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire (are you on fire)
From the years? (from the years)
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
The ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
You can’t feel
The kids
Songwriters: Amy Elizabeth Ray / Emily Ann Saliers

 


Land, Fire, Sea.

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When our partner has been unfaithful it is a shocking betrayal we don’t expect.  If they then leave the relationship, we are forced to grieve.   This is another painful betrayal which can blindside us.  They are still alive and as such grieving them becomes what I would categorize as a different sort of “complicated grief”, no less painful than a bereaved partner.

We are not only grieving our partner but also the loss of the life we had together and the loss of dreams of the future that will no longer be.  It is a multi-layered loss which is often minimized by well-meaning people trying to help by pointing out facts meant to quiet our pain like,”wow, what a such and such!!! .”  and “you just dodged a huge bullet.

Complicated Grief or CG – from Mayo Clinic.org: “losing a loved one is one of the most distressing and, unfortunately, common experiences people face. Most people experiencing normal grief and bereavement have a period of sorrow, numbness, and even guilt and anger. Gradually these feelings ease, and it’s possible to accept loss and move forward.

For some people, feelings of loss are debilitating and don’t improve even after time passes. This is known as complicated grief, sometimes called persistent complex bereavement disorder. In complicated grief, painful emotions are so long lasting and severe that you have trouble recovering from the loss and resuming your own life.

I believe that my experience and those of others who experienced infidelity and were then abandoned by their partner, CG could aptly describe the same type of grieving process.

I decided that my ex-narcopath’s idealization phase was just that, a way to reel me into the relationship on his fishing line.  However, the feelings and love for him were real for me.  Just because they were contrived on his end only meant that I felt the loss and pain and grief of losing what I thought I had.

I eventually came to accept that I had fallen in love with an illusion.   That took time to arrive to that understanding and even longer to accept.  In the end, I was grieving the man I thought I had, not the man I actually had.  This cognitive dissonance slowed my grieving process down.   For as I would start to become angry at him and go through the grieving process, I would quickly remember how wonderful he had treated me in the beginning and get hopeful again that maybe we could reconcile.  Then I would have to begin the grief process all over again.  Not to mention him staying in touch with me, one weak moment of me communicating with him and I was right back to missing him only to be cast aside and wounded by him again.

It came in cycles.  Waves as it were.  Until the waves came closer and closer in succession until they were on top of each other colliding.

Then, I was faced with despair and nothing the grief process itself.  But how? How does one grieve someone who is still alive?

I observed and compared people who lost partners to death and noted that as a victim of infidelity who was dumped, I  was lacking ritual and ceremony in my grieving process.  I then set out to find find personal ways to make my grief feel more real and tangible.

I first visited many online forums and connected with lots of people who had experienced the same thing that I had.   I listened to their stories and advice.

Once I accepted that it needed the be over for ME….(it had long since been over for him) I decided to take all his fake-ass love letters and put them in a wooden box.   Then I took said box with his photo in it and dug a hole into the woods.   I placed a medium sized rock over the pseudo-grave with a simple black symbol I had painted on the rock which was meaningful to me.

I wrote a short eulogy and read it out loud expressing my feelings of betrayal for the sweet man that I would miss.  I said in closing he never had existed except in my heart.  I wrote it for the man I thought I had, for he was the man for which I was crying. .   I had my best friend there to bear witness to my process.  I found this helpful and was pretty sure by then she was ready to smack a shovel over his head and put him into a box with the sheer amount of hours I cried on the phone to her.

I have heard other women getting lighter fluid and torching their love letters.  Still others ripping them into bits and throwing them into the ocean.  I knew of one other woman where threw her letters into a trash dumpster and then taking a photo and sending it that the ex.   Another    man simply bound his letters up and returned them via mail no return address.

Which method you choose matters not.  The important thing is that the process empowers you and brings you closer to healing.  There’s always the option to do nothing at all.   Simply sit be with your pain.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve.  There is no blueprint and certainly no handout anyone gives you for this kind of off the charts level of fucked up pain.   You will have to do it your own way.   At your cadence.   On your terms.

You may grieve before your ready but not before you can.  Freedom really has always been inside of you.    You can do this.  You will be okay.

 

 


In the Big house

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In addition to the clinical diagnosis of OCD I received at 19, I know I have body dysmorphia as well.  This is where when you look in the mirror you see a very distorted body image of yourself which is not accurate.  They are not mutually exclusive but can be comorbid diagnoses.   I know I look horrible, but when I point out others who I believe to which I look similar; they say “no way, that it’s simply not true.”  That I am projecting and exaggerating my fears rather than reality .   That is what I see? It isn’t a projection!

So I’m nearly 30 days in on this diet and it feels like I’m stuck in some sort of TV episode of ‘60 Days In’ meets ‘My 600 lb.life.‘

I’m not sure how I can keep doing this same old same old, ad nauseum, ad infinitum?  The old me lived for being alone in a room with my junk food freebasing a box of Little Debbies.    Now? Exercise is supposed to blow my dress back.  Well guess what.  It doesn’t.  It’s work.  And those neural pathways haven’t been created yet so it feels like drudgery.

Something weird has shifted though.  Other than eating Cheetos for that one discrete time, I seem to have developed the old food aversions that I had back a child.  Where I became so emaciated the doctor threatened to put a g-tube in me.

Fears related to food are cropping up all over again.  The same exact fears that caused my anorexia to begin at around age 10-11 years old.   I have severe OCD and get skeeved out pretty easily by a lot of foods.  I am an extremely picky eater.   If I cannot eat something that tastes palatable, I often opt to starve and just skip meals altogether.

It seems my dream of finding a better more healthy relationship with food is slipping away fast.

I feel frustrated.  I don’t know what belies this whole eating disorder and my therapist is not very helpful or insightful one bit.

I hope everyone out there who is on their own diet is able to stick with whatever they are doing.   Send me encouraging thoughts and prayers if you would!

‘Cause right now I’ve got the jailhouse blues.

 


I cheated

I was fantasizing all night about it and by 11:00 pm I couldn’t take it anymore.  I found myself walking as if in a dream-state to the kitchen to get a snack.

But wait! Snacks are not allowed on my diet you say?  You would be correct.  I cheated.   I cheated with my favorite salty crunchy snack.  Cheetos.

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The Cheeto Tiger with his dark glasses, and his brightly colored packaging like a light in the night, I knew he was a devil in disguise.  He and Little Debbie are in cahoots trying to seduce me.  The bastards.  When you add Mrs. Smith into the mix it becomes an unholy union.

I instantly felt guilty.  Thoughts like,”you worthless piece of shit you can’t do anything right”  and “wow you really fucked that up good” are some thoughts which came through my mind with ease.   Now luckily I didn’t devour a whole bag or anything.  But I shouldn’t have had ANY, hello.

The veggies just are losing their luster.  They just bore me now.   It’s starting to feel like government rations.   I need some excitement in my mouth.  I’m sick of bland chicken and beef.

Ugh.  Why in the hell can’t I be like one of these hardcore extremist dieters who never slip up and lose a shit ton of weight in only 2 months?  Well of course I lack any sort of discipline, that goes without saying.  I mean, I was hoping to uncover some other less obvious reasons?

Hopefully this was just a one-night-stand with this junk food .  Hopefully this doesn’t turn into a full-blown affair.

Stay tuned!!!!


Minecrack

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So often times when you are trying to get rid of one addiction, you need to find a healthier substitute to fill that empty space.

I’ve found something which helps me to distract my mental obsession with the food porn, which is everywhere.   It’s like a hamster that runs around on a little wheel in my head.

My defense against the food addict hamster on its wheel,  is Minecraft.

It started out over two weeks ago, I hopped on the PS4 and it’s now gained traction to where it’s now becoming dare I say another thing that I binge on.

I’ve built a penthouse, with a pool, an underground bunker with built-ins for all my chests for my “mined” ore, a nether portal, and use my map to explore all kinds of biomes.  I’m rocking this tween game like a boss.

It’s so addictive, it should be called Minecrack.  Mojang is making a killing.  But hey, as long as I’m staying on the straight and narrow it’s all good.

I’m pretty sure I have a highly addictive personality.  Ahem….

Gotta run now, back to the mines.

 

 


Addiction

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Photo:  my rosary beads 

Anyone who has ever struggled with addiction knows all too well the viscous cycle of it all.

Every fiber of you craves the thing to which you are addicted.   Your brain tells you quietly that it will kill you, yet the voice of the addiction is louder yelling at you to give in.

Every attempt to stop leaves you  struggling in a brutal tug of war.  The internal voice is always telling you to give in:

“You know you will feel better if you do it” 

“You deserve a break.”

”You know it’s gonna be so good…”

There’s a seductive quality to addiction.  I believe that there is perhaps an evil force which belies the whole process.   Trying to ensnare victims back in.

If for some reason you give in and relapse, you tell yourself:

”Its okay, you can just start over tomorrow,” as a way to assuage your guilt.

If you manage to to relapse in the middle of a week, you tell yourself,

”its okay, you can make a fresh start on Monday.”

Then you get so deep into it, you start telling yourself stuff like,”I’ll start over next month.”  

Then comes the realization when you can’t stop after a whole month after really trying several times, “I just haven’t  tried hard enough or I have to work up to it and get into the recovery mindset.”

Then after total agonizing defeat, still a persistent denial busts in that,”I could quit if I want to, I just don’t want to right now, I like what I am doing.” 

What the fuck?!

Did I just hear my thoughts right.  Yup.  I could quit if I want to but I don’t want to?  Buddy, my ass has been done whooped by this addiction but not I’m “ready?”  That’s precious.

I think only a true addict can indentify with these insane thoughts.

I’ve been living with addiction and relapse for a decade at least.  I’m in this shit up to my eye balls.

It occurred to me today That the one huge part I’ve been leaving out of the mix is steps 1, 2, and 3.  Ha!

It’s always white knuckling.  Who wants to admit defeat? Be powerless, And then surrender?  Not a lot signing up for that shit.  We do it because we get sick and tired of being of being sick and tired.

Time to get on my knees again and ask for God’s help.

 

 

 


She let herself go

 

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Want to know how a woman goes from looking sexy and shaving her pussy, getting her brows waxed, nails done; to packing on a shit ton of weight, wearing a pair of sweatpants like skin, and wandering through life with no make-up?

Too easy.

Its because….she gave up.

“There are some things worse than being alone,” my step-dad once told me, “and one of them is being in a bad relationship.” ‘Course I didn’t believe him at that time.

I’ve got an update for him now, if he were here for me to tell.   But he’s gone the bastard.  My step-dad disowned me when my mom told him his son had molested me as a child.  The truth hurts, some run.

I’d tell him,  “There are some thing worse than being dead and one of them is staying in a relationship once it’s already on life-support instead of just pulling the plug.”

Watching yourself slip away a little at a time after your partner slipped away.   When you finally “come to”, you are old and ugly and barely recognizable in the mirror.   Worse still, your soul feels marred and there is a disconnect from the only Higher Power that can pull you from the black place you find yourself in.

You are now a mere shadow of who you once were.  Not caring if you are physically dead some days, because you already feel dead on the inside.  The urge to pull the wheel to the embankment at 80 mph on the freeway creeps in more than it should.

“She let herself go”, you hear them say, and you don’t even care anymore.  It’s true because you did.  So fucking what.

You have bigger fish to fry now, than a to maintain that trim waistline and to try and look sexy for any superficial jerk-off liar who objectifies women.

Newsflash bitches.  Your cocks aren’t a higher power.  They never were.   And for all the women ensnared by abusive asshole men who exploited our kindness and love? I’ll raise you a fuck off to your “ISO a submissive” racket.

Stop acting out your own victimization under the pretense of helping to guide, shape, or otherwise better women.

Oh she let herself go alright, and that may have been a blessing in disguise.   Because  now maybe she can go inward and create the person she should have been.

 

 

 

 


I’m a Marketing Dream

It occurred to me the other day as I stared blankly out of the window, not wanting to get out of bed, just like every other day, I am in the Bell Jar.  

So many of the commercials on TV for medications to treat depression are so fake.  They depict people suffering with it having a seemingly mild case of the doldrums. Just moving as if stuck in molasses.

They never show you what depression really looks like.

I am willing to let a pharmaceutical company film me to get a more accurate depiction.  It would look something like this…..

Voice over of announcer: “Depression robs a person of their energy.”

Camera pans to me sitting in the middle of my living room with a mountain of dirty laundry staring at it like the woman from Close Encounters of a Third Kind.  Saying, “I know I should wash you” and then just shaking my head no and finally collapsing back into the cushion and saying “fuck it.”  I am down to one pair of clean panties this is now my “edge play.”

Voice of announcer:  “Depression feels physical.” 

Camera lens catches me glancing outside at the morning school bus through the window .  I move to the kitchen and stare at the heaping pile of dishes that has amassed in the sink and repeat “fuck it” as I then head to the bed and proceed to pull the blinds and dive in to the sheets.  (Time elapses)   I rise in my pajamas in a haze hearing the afternoon school bus pulls around the block again.

Voice of announcer:  “Depression causes changes in appetite.”

Last scene too fucking easy.  Like a vampire rising from the mist I awake from bed to eat a box of Girl Scout  cookies.  Because anyone knows that if doesn’t come out of a package or ready-to-eat microvave box, then food isn’t consumed.  Camera fades with me on the couch with said cookies in the middle of the night swearing at the Girl Scouts, blaming them for peddling their crack.

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Real Depression?

Depression is wearing the same pear of sweat pants and tee-shirts every day like a uniform, and having hygiene fall to the wayside til’ someone has to insist a shower is taken.   Brushing teeth? what’s that? there’s no energy.  Sleeping 16 hours a day feels natural.    Feeling black even when the sun is shining.

Depressions steals a person of their  emotions.  Such that life holds neither joy, nor sorrow, no anger, no pain.  It steals away the ability to imagine, to dream, to hope for a better day.  It is the great equalizer changing healthy,  robust,  thriving people into living, breathing, vacuous zombies pondering their very existence.

*******

Why doesn’t Roche, Pfizer, or GlaxoSmithKline want to show what real depression looks like?  Because their drugs are largely ineffective against severe forms of it.   You will look and feel the same on their drugs as you will off them.    Big Pharma doesn’t want anyone to know that.  If the efficacy of their products aren’t much better than a placebo than Lord have mercy, where would their capitalist enterprise be?

I have tried 13 anti-depressants over my lifetime and only one did something.  Not a great track record for pills as monotherapy.   If you are mildly depressed, pills may snap your serotonin back into shape.  Buddy, if you have a severe case of dysthymia, and some C-PTSD you are not going to have that sort of response.

Millions of people are suffering with depression.   Big Pharma wants to profit from the pills they produce to treat a condition that is largely unresponsive to pharmacological intervention.

The most common reason for people to become depressed is sustaining stress and trauma.  Until we become more pro-active as a society about preventing trauma both in childhood and in adulthood we are destined to fail by looking for a pharmaceutical panacea to remedy the problem.

Learning how to intervene once children and adults have been identified as having been exposed to trauma and getting these individuals trauma informed care, we have the hope of healing them.

People need people.  The broken trust that happens through the process of trauma needs to be repaired.   Pharmaceuticals certainly have their place as an aide.  The way out of depression starts with the desire; the wanting to climb out of the bell jar.  Once that decision has been made to seek help, the human factor, not a pill, will always be a more effective “treatment”.

 

 

 

 


Great Steel Gates

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Intellectualization and humor are finely tuned defense mechanisms serving to protect me from things.  Things which even hint at the scar tissue I carry from earlier battles suffered in life.

Sometimes though, I wish someone knew me well enough to know I’m using them and break out the C4.

#scaredbehindsmiles


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